


Death Was Never The End For Us

by anime_freako



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Harry Potter, Barmy little sociopath, He's just very obsessed with Harry, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Possessive Tom Riddle, Riddle Edition, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Teenage Tom Riddle, but what else is new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-18 04:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anime_freako/pseuds/anime_freako
Summary: It all went a little too fast for Harry to comprehend. One moment he was on another Auror raid, the next he was dead, or as close to dead as he ever came. Given the short timeframe, and the impossibleness of the situation, Harry thinks a little lack of foresight could be excused. Not that anyone is around to judge him, what with getting himself stuck in 1942 on a doomed mission to stop Tom Riddle from ever becoming Voldemort. Right. Since when did anything ever go well for Harry Potter. It's just his luck that his plan to work from the shadows fails spectacularly and he now has Tom bloody Riddle on his back, constantly watching him. That should teach him not to trust Death.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 68
Kudos: 630





	1. Harry contemplates punching Death

White. A familiar, neither hot nor cold white that just is and faintly looks like a very clean King’s Cross Station. 

‘Ah’, Harry thinks. Here again. It shouldn’t surprise him. He _would_ ’ve liked to get a few more years in, but with his luck it was probably too much to ask for. 

“Here so soon again, are we?” 

Harry whirls around at the voice but it’s not Dumbledore that greets him. Instead, it’s a tall figure in billowy robes that seem to be made of living shadows. They stand out starkly in the pristine white setting. 

Harry briefly wonders if the figure is to be feared but oddly, the feeling doesn’t set in. He feels only calm, if a bit detached. Perhaps death has lost its novelty, he thinks morbidly. 

Death. Harry blinks twice, taking in the figure once again. The seemingly empty hood and shadow-like robes.

“Figured it out, did you?” The smokey, could a voice be smokey? It seemed to fit the voice of the figure, whispy and velvety but still hoarse. Complex in its diversity. Anyway, the smokey voice had taken on an amused lilt. 

Harry frowned up at the empty hood. “Are you Death?” 

The hood bobbed in what might be a nod. “I am what people refer to as Death.”

“So is this it?” Harry asked, glanced around Limbo-King’s Cross. 

“If you ask whether you can return, as you did last time, then no. This would be it.”

Harry squinted up at Death, sure the entity wanted to tell him something. “So I have to take a train now? Move on.”

“You could.” Once again a non answer. ‘Death is no less cryptid even when it’s not masquerading as Dumbledore’, Harry thought. 

“Could?” He prompted.

“Your mortal body met its demise by being doused by several volatile, experimental potions, yes?” 

Harry grimaces bitterly, blasted idiots attempting brews way over their heads and then they didn’t even have the decency to surrender quietly. He should’ve never become an auror.

“Few of those were attempts at de-aging potions meant for cosmetic purposes. One was an experiment involving time sand that, in itself, was a failure but, mixed with the apparition ward breaking potion, could have some interesting effects.” 

Part of Harry was actually glad he was dead, he could just imagine what a nightmare it will be for his team to sort through all the potions. 

“What does that mean?” 

Death shrugged, the casualness of the motion at odds with its otherworldly presence. “Well, in theory that mix of potions might not only de-age the body doused, but transport it through time. Of course, any regular human would perish instantly from the strain.”

“Uh..” Last time Harry checked, he’d been a regular human being. A regular human being that’d survived death twice, but those didn’t count. He was still human, wasn’t he?

“You, Harrison James Potter, are not a regular human being. You are my master.” 

A beat of silence. “Come again?” Harry asked incredulous. 

“To this day you are still the owner of both the wand, the stone and the cloak, which makes you my master. The Master of Death.” The way it was said told Harry that the entity thought the notion quite humorous. 

He didn’t see the funny part though. “But I snapped the wand!” 

Death scoffed. “You think _you_ can break the Elder Wand? I made that wand, it would take more than merely snapping it for it to be destroyed. No, it is still yours to command, should you wish for it.” 

Harry mulled it over, slightly peeved. “But the stone then! I dropped it that day!” 

Death swept a bony hand as if dismissing Harry’s words from the air. “And like the wand, it will return to you should you wish for it.”

Harry was feeling weirdly petulant. He didn’t ask to be the Master of Death, but then again, he’d never asked to be the Boy Who Lived either, nor the Man Who Defeated The Dark Lord. 

“So what does that mean then? Me being the Master of Death?” 

“It means that you once again have a choice, Master mine.” Death’s tone was positively mocking and Harry wondered what would happen if he socked Death right in the empty hood. Would his fist pass straight through the darkness? Or would the fabric curl in on itself like a sheet?

As if sensing Harry’s less than polite thoughts, Death levelled a chilling warning stare at him. How it did that without any face was very impressive, Harry thought. 

“As I said, you have a choice. You could take a train, so to speak, and depart for good. Go _on_.” Death paused, rather theatrically Harry mused.

“Or?” He humoured. 

“ _Or_ ,” Death continued, more gleeful than the entity had right to be, “Or you could allow the volatile mess of potions to take their effects.” 

“And what,” Harry frowned, “Travel back in time?” 

“Indeed. Back in time, with a younger body to boot. Quite an enticing offer in the eyes of some.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. “Sure.” 

“Why think of all the things you could change with the knowledge of the future.” Death made a sweeping motion with its hands.

“Dangerous things happen to wizards who meddle with time.” Harry echoed what Hermoine had told him all those years ago. 

“Sure, sure,” Death agreed dismissively, “Erasing one’s own existence is quite a painful ordeal. Of course, as the Master of Death, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.” 

“So what,” Harry huffed. “Even if I changed everything, nothing bad would happen?” 

“Good and bad are merely perceptions, if you change the course of history then that is what will happen: History will change. Whether those changes are ‘good’ is up to you to decide.” 

It made sense, Harry silently conceded, that an entity such as Death wouldn’t preoccupy itself with mortal notions such as good or bad. Still, Harry didn’t see why it was so insistent on getting him to go back.

“What would I even do in the past?” 

“Is there no time you can think of, nothing you would change?” Death goaded. 

“Well, I suppose stopping Voldemort before he started the first Wizarding War, that’s sort of when it all went to hell, isn’t it?” Harry thought of all the people that would still be alive if it weren’t for Voldemort and the wars. 

Remus and Tonks, meaning Teddy wouldn’t be an orphan, Fred, Dobby, Colin Creevy, Lavender Brown, Hedwig, Sirius, his parents, Dumbledore, Snape.. 

Neville’s parents would’ve never been tortured to insanity. 

He could’ve had a proper childhood with a loving family. No Dursleys, no cupboards, no endless stream of chores, no ‘punishments’, he would’ve been fed at least three times every day. Perhaps he would’ve actually grown to a decent height, not having his growth stunted by malnutrition.

The more he thought about it, the more he entertained the idea, the more enticing it became. So much death, so many lives ruined, families broken. It would never have happened if Voldemort had never happened.

“Say,” Harry started tentatively, licking his lips nervously, “Say I went back. Do I get to decide when?” 

“More or less,” Death nodded. “There are times more receptive to change, certain ripples in the flow of time, if you will.” 

“Like when?” 

Death levelled a knowing look at Harry. “1942 would be the best option, considering what you intend to do.”

Harry pursed his lips but decided not to ask how Death knew what he was thinking. “1942, I’ll be no one then. What about money, where will I stay?” He could still find several flaws with this plan and it didn’t help that Death seemed so eager for him to go. It made him think that there must be some catch and it wouldn’t be pleasant, not for Harry at least.

“Don’t mind that, just head to Gringotts and have the goblins do a heritage test, it should all sort itself out then.” 

“Uhm, alright?” Inwardly Harry wondered how a heritage test could do anything other than make things worse, what with his parents not even being born, and who knows what else. But Death seemed very confident so Harry opted to trust the entity’s words.

He hummed before another thought hit him. “How old is Voldemort in 1942?”

“He would be starting his fifth year that September.” 

“Fifth year, that was the year he opened the Chamber, wasn’t it? When he made his first horcrux.” Harry could remember the manifestation of Riddle’s soul from his second year. A handsome boy, dressed in Slytherin accented school robes and with the shiny _Prefect_ badge. 

“Wait, hold on! De-aged, does that mean I’ll be fifteen like Riddle? Would I have to go to school again?” Harry grimaced at the thought of sitting through lessons and, Merlin no, having to take his _O.W.L._ s! 

Death chuckled, a raspy, wheezy sound that sent chills down Harry’s spine. “Indeed, that would be the easiest way to accomplish what you seek to do, wouldn’t it Master?” 

Harry grumbled, unable to argue with the logic but unhappy at the thought of going back to school. He was a grown man, for Morgana’s sake, an _auror,_ rumoured to soon be promoted to Head Auror despite his young age. 

“Well then Master,” Death cut off his internal grumbling, “Have you decided? What will it be, moving on,” The whistle of a train could be heard in the distance, “Or going back?” 

Harry gritted his teeth as his mind warred with itself. On one hand he was tired. Hadn’t he done enough? He’d sacrificed his entire childhood to the war, he’d say he’d earned the right to rest. He could board the train that had pulled up at the mock station, white doors open but impossible to look beyond.

He could reunite with all those he’d lost. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred. 

‘But’, he thought, glancing back at the patiently waiting Death. He could also give them the chance of a better life. 

If he went back he would be risking everything. The peace that he’d sacrificed so much to gain, the world that was just getting back on its feet, he would be putting it all in jeopardy.

Then again, Harry mused, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” 

Death laughed, seemingly delighted. “Indeed Master. So you’ve decided?” It offered a skeletal hand out to Harry, who paused for a second before reaching out to grip it.


	2. Harry throws up in Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previous Chapter: Harry dies and makes a deal with Death.

A tugging sensation, not unlike that of a portkey, was the first thing Harry registered, then the squeezing of apparating as well as a white-hot sensation of liquid fire being poured over his very being. 

It was very unpleasant to say the least. 

When his feet finally hit solid ground he doubled over and retched up the contents of his stomach. Unfortunately, it seemed his stomach was empty, which meant Harry was just dry heaving acid.

‘I see now why so called ‘regular humans’ just die.’ Harry thought bitterly when his stomach finally settled. 

It felt like a lifetime but after a few more coughs Harry’s stomach settled enough for him to get on his feet and orientate himself. 

He’d landed in an empty alley, in what he guessed would be Diagon Alley. The sun was still high in the sky and every now and then people would pass by the opening of the alley leading into the main street. Luckily for Harry, no one as much as glanced in his direction. 

Taking inventory of himself he noticed to his great horror that he was missing his wand. His loyal holly wand that’d been with him since he first entered the world of magic. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not immediately race towards Ollivander’s to get it back. But he managed, remembering Death’s advice to get a heritage test.

‘Alright Harry,’ He thought to himself, sucking in a big breath to prepare himself, ‘If you can fight a dragon at fourteen, you can face this. What’s a little time travel compared to a nesting Hungarian Horntail?’ 

With determined steps he entered Diagon Alley’s main street.

It looked the same as it did in ‘81. Bright, people hurrying by as they rushed through their errands, others strolling leisurely as they examined the various shops. It was more lively than what Harry would’ve imagined given that not one but  _ two  _ wars were raging at this time. 

Then again, Harry mused, neither affected Magic Britain very much, not the way the Second Wizarding War had. 

Gringotts was as bright and imposing as ever and Harry wasted little time entering and heading to a free counter. 

“Greetings, may the blood of your enemies ever flow.” Harry bowed his head to the goblin. 

Said creature raised a sceptical brow. “Greetings Wizard, may your gold ever grow.”

The goblin seemed unsure of how to treat Harry, which he expected. Few wizards bothered with goblin customs, seeing the creatures as lesser, but Harry had been sure to study Goblin customs well, as he had needed all the good will he could get, what with having broken into the bank, stolen from one of the most secure vaults they had, released their dragon and ultimately caused an extensive amount of damage. So yes, Goblin culture had been a necessity. 

Not so much anymore seeing as he’d never done any of those things in 1942, but if he could earn the respect of the goblins Harry was sure it would benefit him well later. Better safe than sorry.

“I wish to take a heritage test.” 

“Can you pay the fee?” 

_ Could he? _ "After the test." Here’s to hoping Death didn’t screw him over. 

After a long, scrutinizing look the goblin nods at Harry. “Very well, follow me.” 

Harry followed the goblin deeper into the bank, into a private room where he was told to wait. A few minutes later he was greeted by another goblin who placed a blank sheet of parchment before him, along with a knife, instructing him; “Three drops of blood, no more, no less.” 

Harry didn’t hesitate and watched with bated breath as the blood dripped onto the parchment, bleeding in an impossible pattern that soon after formed words. 

_ Harrison James Peverell _

_ Born 31st of July, 1927 to James Henry Peverell (father) and Lily Jolanta Peverell (née Evans) (mother). _

Harry was aware that he was a descendant of Ignotus Peverell, and given the Peverells’ suspected past regarding a trio of brothers and their run in with Death, perhaps he should’ve expected this outcome. 

That still didn’t make the name any less foreign or strange. 

The parchment also listed a long line of vaults and properties that he supposedly owned now, as the last known true descendant of the Peverell line. What drew his eyes though, was a line at the very bottom of the parchment, blood-like ink still shining ruby red and fresh.

_ Master of Death _

The line shimmered for a second and then vanished, as if it’d never been there at all.

‘Well’, Harry thought. He considered the parchment in its entirety for a moment. ‘Next time, when Death tells you not to worry about something. Worry.’

* * *

Managing accounts in Gringotts was a gruelling affair. Filled with lengthy discussions and re-reading every line in numerous contracts, ensuring he wasn’t being screwed over in any manner. 

But hours later, Harry exited Gringotts as Lord Peverell, a certified member of the British Wizarding World of 1942. And more importantly, in possession of enough money to buy a wand. 

Well actually he was in possession of enough money to buy every wand Ollivander had and then some, but never mind that. 

If an eleven year old Harry thought his trust-vault had been more money than he could ever spend, he probably would’ve fainted on the spot from the amount in the Peverell vault. Best not to dwell on it.

Despite how eager he’d been to finally reunite with his wand, Harry found himself hesitating outside Ollivander’s, doubt churning in his gut.

Would he even get his old wand now? After everything he’d been through, was he still the same person that his phoenix feather core, holly wand had bonded itself to? And if it did choose him again, what would that mean for his future self?

_ “Go.” _

Harry whirls around. Nothing, people pass by him but none look twice. But he was sure..

Another push, almost like that of legilimency but colder, and not so much aimed at his head.

“Death?” 

_ “Yes Master?” _ It is unmistakingly the smooth rasp of Death, still annoyingly amused at Harry’s expense. 

“How?” Harry asks, hoping no one witnesses him talking to seemingly thin air. 

_ “I am Death, I am everywhere, inevitably, inescapably. I see all and claim all-”  _

“Alright, you melodramatic bastard, I get it.” 

Death chuckled and Harry swore he could feel the phantom breath of it right beside his ear. If the entity even breathed. Another push and Harry finally entered Ollivander’s with the chime of a bell.

Pale, knowing eyes meet his and Harry discovers that he finds Ollivander just as off-putting at 26 as he did when he was 11. 

“It is rare that I receive older customers that I do not know.” Ollivander tells him instead of greeting him as any other shop owner would.

Harry tightens his occlumency shields despite doubting that Ollivander’s  _ knowing  _ comes from legilimency. “Yes, well. I recently lost my old wand in an…  _ attack _ , and so I’m in dire need for a new one.” 

_ “Is it a dire need if the most powerful wand is yours to command whenever you wish for it?” _

‘Yes!’ Harry hisses inwardly at Death, ‘Yes it is when said wand is currently in the hands of a megalomaniac dark lord.’ 

Ollivander scrutinizes him for a long moment before jerking into action with a suddenness that startles even Harry. 

“Where did I put it- Ah yes!” A wand is presented to Harry. “12 and a half inches, cypress with a unicorn core, slightly springy.” 

Harry flicked the wand even though he knew it wasn’t the one just from picking it up. Sure enough, a bang of misfire and Ollivander had to duck to avoid getting hit by an empty box. 

“No, no not at all.” Another was shoved into his hand. “10 and 3/4, fir wood, dragon heartstring, unyielding.” 

A swing and something was on fire. The wand was plucked from his hand again. 

Harry held back a sigh and prepared for what would inevitably be a long string of wands. It was almost nostalgic, watching Ollivander grow more and more excited after every failed wand. Ash, cedar, blackthorn, more dragon wands, not anymore unicorns though.

And then finally, after what had to be a dozen wands:

“11 inches, holly and phoenix feather, nice and supple.” 

Harry held his breath and gingerly took hold of his old, well not  _ old  _ but familiar, wand. A rush of magic and a flush of relief.

Ollivander gives him a penetrating look and Harry prepares himself for what is no doubt going to be an unsettling parting message. 

“An unusual wand, Lord Peverell,” Ollivander begins, and Harry can’t remember if he ever introduced himself, “But perhaps suited for such an unusual person. It is believed that when one matches a wand of holly and phoenix feather, there is nothing that can stand in your way.”

This time, Ollivander doesn’t narrate on the twin phenomena of his wand, perhaps because Harrison Peverell has no connection to Tom Riddle, besides being classmates in a month, but the old wandmaker manages to be ominous and foreboding all the same. 

Harry wastes little time leaving, once again reunited with his faithful wand. Now to get himself enrolled into Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It continues! Next chapter we will finally arrive in Hogwarts, subscribe to get updates!


	3. Harry walks amongst ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We arrive at Hogwarts!

A month later Harry walks through the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the entire room humming with whispers and the weight of hundreds of eyes on his back. Then, only then, does it hit him that he’s now stuck in 1942 as a fifteen year old. 

Perhaps the epiphany should’ve hit sooner, but between settling in as Lord Peverell, both financially, politically and literally, and getting enrolled into Hogwarts as a transfer student, he hadn’t  _ felt  _ fifteen years old. 

Now he feels it. The awkward displacement of not being what he seems, the students around him so young and small. Harry doesn’t remember being that young and small. 

And yet here he is, just as young and small physically, but a decade apart from them mentally. Still, he swallows the panic down and walks all the way to the front of the Great Hall, in perfect view as he gets to wear the Sorting Hat for the second time in his life. 

_ ‘Well well, how curious.’ _

‘You’re telling me.’ Harry thinks and wonders if he will get to choose this time as well.

_ ‘No I shan’t think so. This time not-so-young Potter, the house that will serve you best will be-’ _

“SLYTHERIN!” 

‘Figures.’ But Harry had been expecting it and isn’t too bothered, to be honest, so he just sends thoughts of exasperated amusement to the hat before he goes to take a seat at the Slytherin table. 

It’s a little weird to be sitting on the opposite side of the hall, surrounded by not quite unfamiliar faces, all of them watching him, some more intensely than others. 

Green meets indigo and a shiver crawls down Harry’s back. There sits Tom Riddle, just as young and handsome as his horcrux was, with pristine Slytherin robes, sharp features and one dark curl of hair falling artfully across his forehead.

Merlin, Harry really hadn’t thought this through. 

No time in the world could’ve prepared him for the onslaught of emotions, all of them, hatred and pity, sorrow and hope. So many contradicting feelings that Harry has to take a deep breath and force himself to wrench his eyes away from Riddle’s. 

He has no idea what to do, he realises. Him and his stupid saviour complex that made it seem so reasonable to go back in time. ‘Stop Voldemort’. Harry withheld a scoff.  _ How _ ? 

He probably should’ve considered the how sooner. If Hermione was here she’d lecture him until she was blue in the face. She always did say he was too hasty, that he needed to think things through. 

He misses her. 

“Peverell.” 

Harry’s head snaps up to meet the eyes of another Slytherin student sitting across from him. The other must be around Harry’s (outwardly) age and there’s something vaguely familiar about him. Probably a relative of one of the students in Harry’s own time. 

“I thought the Peverell line was dead.” Another boy sitting next to the first one comments. 

Harry contemplates them. “Yeah, well. I guess you thought wrong.” 

The other sneers at him. “That so? It doesn’t surprise me your family haven’t shown themselves if your manners are any indication of-” 

The boy is abruptly cut off by a soft but stern “Mulciber. Nott.” 

Harry watches as those around him flinch and immediately defer to the teenage Voldemort sitting not far from them. 

“Where are  _ your  _ manners, Cyrus?” Riddle continues mildly, not even looking at the boy. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself first. No wonder our new transfer student was so hostile.” 

The boy, Mulciber, cowers further and whispers a weak “Sorry Tom.” before continuing to glare at Harry.

Riddle then turns to Harry, nothing in his expression to indicate his earlier powerplay. “Tom Riddle. I’m the fifth year prefect and in your dorm, so don’t hesitate to ask if you have any worries.” He greets him with a perfectly cordial and polite smile. 

If Harry hadn’t known it was all fake, he would’ve fallen for it hook, line and sinker. 

Fortunately, he does, so Harry just smiles with clenched teeth and greets him back. 

“These are our other yearmates.” Riddle gestures to most of the other boys surrounding him. 

“Harrison, meet Zephyros Avery,” A blonde haired boy nods lazily at him, 

“Rufus Lestrange,” The curly haired boy next to Avery waves half-heartedly. 

“Marcellus Rosier,” Across from Lestrange, a boy nods. 

“Thaddeus Nott,” The boy who first spoke to Harry greets him. 

“And of course, Cyrus Mulciber.” Mulciber only glares at Harry. 

Harry is fortunately saved from stumbling through pureblood etiquette by Slughorn. The potions professor, younger, his potbelly not as pronounced and with blonde hair, smiles enthusiastically at Riddle.

“Tom, my boy! Good to see you back, have a good summer, did you?” 

Riddle smiles prettily, and Harry doesn’t doubt his teeth are gritted hard enough to hurt. “I did, thank you Professor. And you?” 

“Oh yes, a great summer indeed!” Slughorn laughs with delight. At what though, Harry can’t help but wonder as the professor gushes about so-and-so. Slughorn greets the other Slytherins warmly, but not quite as enthusiastically, as well. 

‘Merlin,’ Harry thinks. ‘To think he mellowed out his favouritism with the years.’ 

Slughorn hands out their schedules, which unfortunately means he turns his attentions onto Harry. 

“Oh yes, Mr. Peverell. Congratulations on your sorting, I’m sure you’ll fit right in. Slytherin has no shortage of splendid young wizards and witches, although I may be a little biased there.” The man laughs in pseudo self-deprivation. 

“Harrison,” Riddle directs gently. “This is Professor Slughorn, our potions professor and Head of House.”

“Thank you Tom, for your fine introduction.” Slughorn beams, although Riddle didn’t really say anything that wasn’t fact. 

‘Riddle could probably shit in a vial and get an O.’ Harry thinks mulishly. 

“I best be getting on now boys, enjoy the rest of the feast. And Mr. Peverell, I look forward to seeing how you perform in my class.” Slughorn claps Harry’s shoulder. “Should you ever be in doubt, you can always ask Tom. He is quite a prodigy!” 

The boy in question smiles humbly. “Thank you Professor, I’m glad you review me so highly. I only hope to live up to your standards.” 

‘Suck up.’ Harry doesn’t say, but swears he hears an otherworldly snort of laughter anyway. 

“Now, I have to lead the first years, it’s part of my duties as prefect, but Thaddeus will take you to the Slytherin common room, won’t you Thaddeus.” Riddle aims the last part at Nott, who nods, doing a great job at acting like he isn’t terrified of the young Dark Lord-to-be. 

And with that Riddle excuses himself, leaving Harry sitting in the literal snakeden of what will no doubt become the inner circle of future Death Eaters. Great. 

“Well then,” Nott says, with all the poise of a true pureblood. “Shall we go?” 

Harry follows behind the boys, trying to get a feel of them. Lestrange argues with Mulciber the entire way, about.. something. Harry tried to find heads and tails in their argument but it was a mute point. 

Avery walked behind them, discussing Quidditch with Nott. From what Harry could gather, they were discussing who would take the newly vacated spots that last year’s graduates had left open. Harry noted with muted interest that the Seeker spot was open, which didn’t fail to entice him. 

Something to consider at least. 

And beside Harry walked Rosier. Now, Rosier was a bag of cats Harry had been unwilling to open, which was why he hesitated in interacting with the boy. But now, the blond is hard to ignore. Mainly the resemblance he bore to one Bellatrix Lestrange. It wasn’t much but those iconic, hooded eyes had his gut wrenching every time. 

‘This,’ Harry thought. ‘This will be hard to ignore.’ 

It was one thing to look young Tom Riddle in the eye and not curse him six ways to Sunday, but having to walk passively amongst living ghosts? Harry wasn’t sure he was strong enough to bear it. 

It wasn’t just Rosier. At the feast, just down the table, Harry had failed to not notice what was unmistakingly a young Black, probably Orion Black, given the eerie resemblance to Sirius. And that, well. That’d felt like taking a bludger to the stomach. 

“There you go spacing out again, Peverell. I hope we haven’t gotten ourselves another Rosier in our dorm.” Lestrange teases with a sharp smile. 

Harry is about to snap back when Nott beats him to it. 

“Careful not to put your foot in your mouth, Lestrange. Or have you forgotten why we have so many transfers lately?” 

Lestrange winces but doesn’t look to bothered. “Right. So, Peverell?” 

Harry looks confused at Lestrange. “So what?” 

“Grindelwald, Peverell.” Lestrange rolls his eyes. “Were you attacked by him?” 

“Uhm..” Harry falters as the other boys bicker about tact and manners. What does he say? 

_ “Tell them the war sent you.”  _

Harry very nearly whirls around to face what is undoubtedly thin air. One does not get used to having Death speaking from beyond the veil, Master or not.

“Yeah I’m.. I’m here because of the war.” Harry says, trying to sound sure of himself.

Nott squints at Harry. “It’s not a war yet, though.”

“Maybe not for you.” Harry tells him blithely, wondering what the hell he’s saying. 

There’s an awkward pause before Avery breaks the silence by complaining quite theatrically about having transfiguration first thing Monday. Apparently Dumbledore is the 1940’s Slytherin version of Snape, at least from what Harry could gather. 

He wastes little time rushing through the common room and into his own dorm. Thank Merlin and Morgana for Slytherins having personal rooms. Harry is sure he would've died of sleep deprivation if he had to sleep in the same dorm as Riddle and his gang of not-yet Death Eaters.

Why had he allowed Death to coerce him into this again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another month, another chapter. Riddle appeared, just long enough to be his usual overbearing self. Updates to follow as I write them!


	4. Harry daydreams about Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't matter what year it is, Harry will never pay attention in class.

It’s been a month and Harry still wakes up alarmed as he forgets where he is. After a second everything comes back and Harry collapses back into green bed sheets, a little overwhelmed by the sheer weight of being back in Hogwarts. And being back in general. 

But if he dwells on it he will only end up driving himself into panic, so instead he goes through the motions of getting ready for the day.

He meets with Nott in the common room and they head to breakfast together. Nott is pretty easy to get along with, as long as Harry doesn’t linger on who Nott grows up to be. The other seems like a mellow boy, who prefers to listen rather than speak. 

Very unlike the boy that Harry reluctantly takes a seat across from. Riddle bids them good morning, to which Harry responds with a borderline rude grunt, choosing instead to focus on piling food on his plate. 

“Did you sleep well, Peverell? I know some need time to adjust when they move to new places and you seem a bit.. tired.” Riddle asks him with a mild smile, which is a nice underhanded way of making him know that his earlier rudeness was noticed and not to be repeated.

Too bad Harry isn’t interested in playing baby Death Eater. 

“Oh I slept fine, thanks.” He says with a smile that is nothing but polite.

Riddle, to his credit, does not react outwardly. “I see, that’s good to hear. You should eat quickly, I’ll show you to transfiguration.”

“That’s.. very generous of you,” Harry says, trying not to choke on the words. “But I’m sure I’ll manage.” 

Riddle raises one dainty eyebrow at him. “I’m afraid I must insist. Hogwarts can be very confusing to navigate for newcomers. We wouldn’t want our new transfer student to get lost now, would we?” 

“Right.” Harry reluctantly agrees, because while Harry Potter might know Hogwarts as well as his own wand, the same could not be said for Hadrian Peverell without raising some questions. 

“You’re a Slytherin, so your behaviour reflects all of us, you know. Wouldn’t want you to go around losing house points on your first day.” Riddle finishes nonchalantly .

‘And there’s the catch.’ Harry doesn’t bother answering, he just bites into his toast rather sullenly. 

He stays out of the conversation as Mulciber and the others join them but his silence isn’t commented on. Riddle himself is also mostly quiet, listening and offering his input once in a while, as well as Rosier, who seems lost in his own mind. 

‘Strange kid.’ Harry can’t help but think. 

He trails the group of Slytherins as they make their way to transfiguration. The familiar classroom is decorated in a style that is very much Dumbledore, enough to be quite nostalgic. Oddities and knick-knacks clutter the room in a way that’s almost chaotic. It is far from the organised classroom that McGonagall had run. 

“Ah yes, our newest transfer student! Mr. Peverell, a word if you please.” 

Harry glances up and sucks in air in a sharp inhale. 

He thought he’d come to peace with Dumbledore. As a child he’d respected the old headmaster, viewed him as infallible. Growing up, he was faced with disappointment that cut like betrayal as the man proved himself to be quite human, and as all humans, prone to making mistakes. After the war, he had to swallow the bitter truth that the other had, in effect, raised him like a lamb for slaughter. As an adult, he came to peace with the fact that Dumbledore, like anyone in a position of power possessing ideals, had some difficult choices he felt he had to make. 

Harry had recognised that Dumbledore thought the sacrifice of Harry’s life and childhood was worth the greater good. Whether or not he  _ agreed  _ was another thing entirely, but Harry didn’t resent the man for his choice. 

Or Harry thought he didn’t, but coming face to face with a young (or young _ er  _ at least) Dubmledore, eyeing him shrewdly, something not unlike bitterness bubbled in his gut. 

“Professor?” He asks, hopefully not letting any of his inner conflict show on his face. 

Dumbledore chuckles, the familiar twinkle appearing in his blue eyes. “Oh don’t look so alarmed, my boy. I just wish to tell you that should you find any trouble here at Hogwarts, with studies or anything else, you shouldn’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the head of your house but my office is always open to students in need.” 

Once upon a time, Harry would’ve warmed at the grandfatherly concern that Dumbledore showed him. Even now, as a literal stranger with no connection to speak off, his old headmaster is still letting himself be known as someone he could rely on.

But Harry is no longer the scared little boy that came to Hogwarts after a lifetime of neglect, desperate for positive attention and familial affection, and the grown man, the auror, in him can’t help but search the words for any hidden meanings, any signs of deceit. Can’t help but doubt the sincerity of the offer. 

Harry doesn’t voice any of this, instead he smiles gratefully and thanks the professor, before taking a free seat on the Slytherin side of the classroom.

Dumbledore gives him an inscrutable look before clapping his hands and starting the lesson. Having already sat through the entirety of the 6th year’s course, distracted as he might’ve been at the time, he doesn’t need a lot of focus to follow along the lesson. Instead, Harry pays close attention to the way Dumbledore teaches as a professor. 

Older, wiser and more objective, it’s easy to see the bias Dumbledore carries towards the Slytherin students versus his own lions. Points are freely given to the students in red, but Harry’s own housemates aren’t called on as frequently. It’s subtle and could easily be overlooked but Harry doesn’t miss that Riddle isn’t called on even once, despite raising his hand at every question. 

It eerily reminds him of the way Snape would intentionally glance over Hermione as she would practically stand in her chair to answer any question. The comparison doesn’t sit well with him.

Harry, having been forced to sit next to Riddle by lack of other seats, leans closer to whisper: “Does the Professor always ignore Slytherins like this?” 

Riddle doesn’t turn to answer but the cold look in his eyes betrays his resentment. “Now, Harrison, you shouldn’t recklessly accuse our professors of discrimination.” 

Harry huffs. ‘That’s such a politician’s answer. Riddle should’ve just run for Minister, instead of skipping straight to genocide.’ 

_ “Indeed, the world would’ve seen a very different outcome had that been the case.”  _

Startling in his seat has Riddle given him an odd look but Harry is too preoccupied by Death’s words to pay the baby Dark Lord attention. That phrasing.. It alludes to something and if that’s the case..

‘Hey Death? You said back at Limbo-Cross that there are ripples in time, where I could be placed easier than others. What did you mean by that?’

_ “Every choice made has an effect, no matter how small some may be, on the world. Certain events solidify the course of history.”  _

‘So in 1942, there’s an event that sets Riddle on the path that will lead to my future? And if that event didn’t happen… That future wouldn’t happen?’

_ “Very good Young Master.”  _ Death praises with raspy laugh, Harry can’t tell if the praise is genuine or sarcastic.  _ “When Tom Riddle kills Myrtle Warren and uses her death to create his first horcrux, he sets himself on an irreversible path to becoming Voldemort.” _

‘So after he kills Myrtle, there’ll be nothing anyone could do to stop him?’ 

_ “Nothing short of killing him, but you will find fate interfering should you attempt those kinds of means.” _

‘Yeah no, I’m not… I don’t think I have it in me. Not when he’s like this.’ Harry glances at Riddle, who’s once again raising his hand in vain. Like this, he looks just like any other student, good looking for sure, but there’s nothing to foreshadow the monster he will become. ‘Or  _ could  _ become I suppose.’ 

_ “Ah, but that is the point, isn’t it Master? As of yet, he is not Lord Voldemort, not truly. His future is malleable and constantly changing, yet to be decided.” _

‘So there’s hope?’ Harry asks the entity, only half expecting an answer, as he studies the boy next to him. He tries to imagine an older Riddle, one who isn’t marred by the horrors of what he’s done for immortality.. He would only grow more handsome, features would sharpen into something truly aristocratic. Indigo eyes, not the blood red snake eyes, glinting with intelligence, not madness. 

Harry could see him standing before a crowd of supporters and journalists, Minister of Magic with both the old purebloods and new magic following him gladly. 

Then again, Harry grimaces, who knows what a sane Riddle would do to muggleborns.

“Do I have something on my face, Harrison?” 

Harry blanches as he realises he’s been openly staring at Riddle, who has turned to stare back with poorly disguised amusement. 

“I- no, that’s..!” Harry stutters, feeling himself turn red in embarrassment. He silently thanks his darker complexion that will hopefully cover some of it. “I was just spacing out! I didn’t mean to stare!” 

Resorting to physically shake himself out of it, Harry feels rather mortified at the direction his thoughts had taken. 

Riddle, in an uncharacteristic move, takes mercy on him and just smiles in that neutral way of his. “Of course. You should hurry and pack away your things, though. I assure you, Professor Merrythought’s bad side is an unpleasant side to be on.” 

Harry sucked in a breath. “Right.” Despite himself, he was actually a little excited to see what DADA would be like with a proper teacher, one who’s had years to work out a curriculum and didn’t hate his guts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow it's been a while. You'd think I'd have time to write what with quarantine and all but I'm not back at work and only then do I update. Up next: Harry's first DADA lesson!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of Tomarry fics lately and they inspired me to do my own little post-mortem scene with Harry and Death. Which will hopefully evolve into a full fanfiction. Subscribe for updates!


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